


Trapped by Shadows

by PearlsAndRoses



Series: I never asked for love [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, King Alistair (Dragon Age), Past Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Rough Sex, Ultimate Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlsAndRoses/pseuds/PearlsAndRoses
Summary: All of Ferelden is celebrating the end of the Blight thirteen years ago. All of Ferelden, except Alistair. Early in the morning, he’s the first to visit the memorial built to honour the Hero of Ferelden. Not that he needs a memorial to remember her or the sacrifice that should have been his.Sorcha Lavellan sees him struggling and wants to help.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Inquisitor, Alistair/Female Lavellan
Series: I never asked for love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559443
Kudos: 7





	Trapped by Shadows

It should have been raining, clouds mourning the passing of someone who had an entire life ahead of her, but it wasn’t. The sky turned pink, like her cheeks, and red and orange, like the fires that had burned in Denerim’s streets. Where he had been. Ordered to stay behind.

He hid deeper in his hood, the rough fabric keeping the chilly morning wind out. A slab of grey stone loomed over him. Time and wind and rain had done little to wear away the inscription cut into the stone. He didn’t need to read it to feel the pain.

**Anna-Lise Cousland. Hero of Ferelden. Through her sacrifice, the Archdemon of the Fifth Blight was slain, and countless lives were saved by her courage.**

It should have been him. Not the “Hero”-part, that was hers, but the sacrifice. But he’d been a coward. He’d stayed to defend the gates at her orders. How many times hadn’t he gone through that final moment?

_Shouts and cries, the clamour of fighting filled the streets, smoke stinging his lungs. The dark shapes of corpses all around them, mostly darkspawn, but too many that were not. Deep within him, stronger than the beat of his heart and the swoosh of his blood, the Taint hummed. Its song was shriller and louder than it had ever been. The Archdemon was coming._

_Riordan went ahead, leaving Alistair with Anna-Lise to say their final words to companions that had become friends. Or no, not final words, that sounded way too dramatic. She took off her helmet, strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead. He followed her example, hoping for a breath of fresh air, but there was none._

_Grinning at her, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “You think the Archdemon thought that little scuffle would stop us? He’s in for a surprise, then.”_

_“Alistair.” Her voice wiped the grin off his face. “I will be going up to Fort Drakon.”_

_“Of course. I’ll be right behind you,” he said, more a question than the firm statement he intended. He’d been right behind her through all this, so why wouldn’t he be now?_

_Her eyes shimmered with… tears? She squeezed them shut and her jaw clenched. When she opened them, he could see the fire that had brought her, no, them, this far. “No, you stay behind to guard the gates. We have to keep the Archdemon from getting reinforcements and you’re the only Warden left to sense them.”_

_Logical, it all sounded so logical, but he wasn’t going to stay. Logic be damned. “I’m coming with you.” He took a step to her and his gauntleted hands cupped her face. “I’m_ not _leaving you.”_

_He expected her to argue, or, the better option, to accept his help. She did neither, but instead pulled his head to her, her mouth clashing on his. Not a kiss. A goodbye, but he didn’t know that yet. “I love you. Thank you for everything, my love.” Her eyes darted past his shoulder and she gave a slight nod._

_Next thing he knew, white-hot pain shot from where shoulder meets neck, down his spine, and his legs buckled under him. His mouth formed a wordless cry, his arms falling limp to his side. She ran to join the others waiting for her and smoke swallowed them. Flames and shadows blurred together as she left. On her way to Fort Drakon._

_Before the world turned black, he heard Zevran’s voice in his ear. “I’m sorry, my friend.”_

His throat felt tight, his eyes burned as he staggered forward to lean his head against the memorial. The cold spread through him, doing little to numb the pain, but he stayed in his place. He’d promised to have her back, always, and she’d promised to stand by him as his Queen. They’d be together, forever. Like in the fairytales.

He knelt and took a single rose from the inside of his coat. Dewdrops clung to the velvety red petals. Only this morning the flower had been one among many in the rosebushes that flowered in one of the palace’s gardens. It was nothing like the single rose he’d found in Lothering, the one he’d given to Anna-Lise when he’d told her how much her company meant to him. Just like there had been only one rose like that, there could only be—

A prick of pain bloomed in his palm, one of the thorns piercing flesh. Blood welled up, red like the rose. He pressed the rose to his heart before placing it on the edge at the base of the stone slab. A drop of blood fell next to it.

“I’ll always love you,” Alistair whispered. That was a promise he could keep. He sat while the first rays of sunlight cast long shadows around him and Denerim woke up. Rattling carts turned into market stalls, merchants view for the best spots and the smell of fresh bread that wafted across the square was a reminder that he’d be expected back in the palace soon.

His knees creaked when he rose, joints stiff from the cold. What was the last time he’d trained together with his soldiers? He couldn’t remember. In several of their lessons, Anna-Lise had stressed the importance of spending time with the common folk. A puff of air hissed between his teeth; the common folk. Like he hadn’t spent more than half of his life believing he was even less important than any of them. Like being king changed that. Eamon seemed to think it did, he’d told Alistair on several occasions a king should not be seen sparring with ordinary soldiers. Nor eating or drinking. Anna would have known how to rebuke his uncle.

A shadow joined him, followed by a cloaked man coming to stand by his side. He was cloaked, like Alistair, but pulled his hood back to show dark brown hair with streaks of grey. It wasn’t the hair, nor the grey-brown eyes that caused the stab in Alistair’s chest; it was the straight line of his nose, the angle of his cheekbones. 

“Fergus,” Alistair greeted him. No “Good morning” for there was nothing good about this morning. 

Fergus’s eyes darted from the rose to Alistair and back. “It never gets any easier, does it?” he mumbled. 

Alistair kept his gaze on the rose. The drop of blood darkened like the rose petals would before they fell off. He shook his head, not caring whether Fergus would see or not. They both knew the answer.

“I should go.”

“I’ll see you at the banquet tonight.” Fergus turned to him and clasped his shoulder. For a moment, it was as if he wanted to say something more, but instead, he nodded. Lines around his eyes spoke of a pain that words couldn’t heal. 

The day passed with the usual festivities and the passing of face after face. Names turned into nothing more than meaningless strings of letters. The banquet had tasteless food and wine that left a sour taste and empty conversation. Ferelden celebrated the end of the Fifth Blight, but no one truly understood what the cost had been.

“Stand up straight, don’t let your shoulders slump like that.” Anna’s hand ran over his shoulders and down his back. He could feel the heat blossoming from deep in his stomach all the way up to his cheeks. She stopped in front of him. “And one should not let their thoughts be written across their face like that.” A wink belied her lecturing words.

Alistair threw his hands up, exclaiming, “What else can I do when I’m in the company of such a lovely lady? Your lessons never prepared me for that.”

Her laughter sent his heart fluttering.

He laughed when the others did, spoke when spoken to and when he caught a glimpse of long, black hair pulled back in a braid to show her pointed ears, he looked down at his plate. His stomach churned and he pushed his food from side to side. She was here. Now she would see how weak he was.

* * *

The light of a single candle fought a losing battle against the darkness of his room. Pain pulsed behind his eyes with each heartbeat. He’d excused himself early, the headache offering a welcome escape, and now he was sitting on one of his sofas, trying to find the courage to go to bed. Where more shadows would be waiting. The flame became blurrier the longer he stared into it.

His eyelids were heavy, opening like they were stuck together with syrup. Finally, they obeyed him and he saw figures running around, shouting. His tongue was dry like the bread he’d eaten during templar training, his body numb. All that, he could ignore, though, because inside, the Song sounded louder than his own thoughts. He groaned as he held his head. Something was wrong.

“They’re breaking through the gates,” someone shouted. 

Alistair swayed on his feet. Anna, where was Anna? A roar from above, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Archdemon. Reality sunk in like a sharp blade. She was up there on Fort Drakon and the Archdemon was on its way to her. 

He drew his sword, but before he could take one step, the noise of splintering wood came from the gates. Guard the gates, she’d told him. Before she’d left. Left him.

He jumped aside just in time to avoid one of the gate doors being hurled at him. The ogre responsible cried in anger and tore another piece from the hinges. Soldiers shrunk back from the creature to leave more darkspawn flooding in. She trusted him to keep the gates, she trusted him to guard her back as he’d always done.

Alistair answered the cry from the ogre with one of his own. Soldiers rallied around him as he charged. 

The knock, soft as it was, jolted him from his memories. 

“In,” he croaked, the answer one made out of habit and nothing more. Light flooded in through the door leading to the hall and a short figure stood in the opening. He squinted against the sudden brightness, but he recognised her step as she closed the door.

Sorcha crossed the room in silence, speaking only when she stood next to him. “I thought you might not want to be alone.”

He wasn’t alone, not really. Alone would have been better than being surrounded by shadows, but he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, he motioned to the empty spot beside him. 

She sat down.

Silence.

“Alistair?”

He should say something, but he didn’t know what.

Wax dripped down the candle.

Her hand, warm on his. When he didn’t move, she continued up to his shoulder. Her other hand cupped his cheeks to angle his face to her. Doubt was clear in her eyes, but he could also see an echo of his pain written in there. Gently, she pulled him closer until their lips touched and he froze. 

Lips cold and bloodless. No. No. NO! 

His fingers dug into her hair, pressing her close. His mouth moved eagerly on hers, sucking, biting, anything to let to her presence drive away the darkness inside him. She moaned, from pain or longing, he didn’t know.

She pulled back for a gasp of air. “Are you—” 

He swallowed her words. Words didn’t help, couldn’t help. Maybe she would.

Desire stirred in the pit of his stomach when he tasted her blood, warm and coppery. Lust coursed through him, the ghosts of memories standing no change against its fire. Everything was wrong about this, but he didn’t stop her when she sat down on his lap, her legs straddling him. The cord that tied her dress together at the front wound around his fingers, each pull only tightening it even more and he muttered a curse. Her deft hands succeeded where he had failed and soon their clothes lay in a heap on the ground. Then she was on top of him, her shape outlined by the light of the flickering flame. Her hand wrapped around his hard cock and she guided him to her opening.

In the glow of the fire, her cheeks blushed a delicate pink after their kisses. Lying slightly out of breath next to him, she was nice and warm and soft and he wanted. Oh, Maker, he wanted.

“So, what, eh. What now?” Did he sound nervous? He did, didn’t he? Not good, Alistair, he admonished himself. 

She licked her lips and the heat down there became hard to ignore. Her fingers roamed over him, drawing out a hiss when she stroked up and down his length. Want, want, want, his entire body hummed. 

She put her leg over him, the inside of her thighs warm against him, curly hair tickling his skin. Bending over, she took him in her hand and asked, “May I?”

Beautiful, she was beautiful and he forgot to answer for a moment. Her raised eyebrows reminded him this wasn’t some kind of dream, she was here. With him. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice pitched and she smiled. “I mean,” he cleared his throat, “yes. I want you. I love you.”

Slick wetness enveloped him.

“No!” he called her to a halt. She wasn’t _her_. Could never be her. He should stop now, let Sorcha get back to her room, but dark lust coursed through him. Nothing was careful, nothing was gentle or loving in the way he pushed her off him until she was bent over the sofa’s armrest. His nails dug into the soft flesh of her thighs. He shouldn’t do this. But she didn’t protest, only spread her legs wider to show her glistening opening, ready for him.

He thrust hard and deep and she groaned, her body tensing. She was hurt. He should stop. But she rocked back and forth, impaling herself on him. He couldn’t. Couldn’t stop.

With a groan, he pulled her to him. He crashed into her again and again, his eyes squeezed shut. Red and black spots swam behind his closed eyelids, red ran the lust that took over. She moaned, she cried, she shook and he kept thrusting. 

Cruel pleasure built up inside him until it had to explode. With a few last, erratic thrusts, he spilt inside her.

Her shape swam into focus when he opened his eyes. Dark hair, no longer in a neat braid, but a dishevelled mess. Pale skin with red lines across her back leading to— He jerked back. His hands had left marks on her skin, some even bleeding. What had he done?

As he scrambled back to get as far away from her as the sofa allowed, she sat upright and turned to him, puzzlement written across her face. Blood dripped from a cut in her lip. Bile rose in his throat at remembering lapping up the taste of her blood. He’d done that to her. How could he have done that?

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” His voice broke and he knew she couldn’t forgive him. Not now that she’d seen how he couldn’t even control his own desires. Tears strung behind his eyes.

“For what?” she asked and extended a hand to him. When he flinched back, she let it fall, furrowing her brow. 

“For what I did to you. For all of this.” The frown on her forehead stayed, so he spoke the words he should have said long ago before they’d started all of this. “You deserve someone who loves you and cares about you and is there when you get home. Not someone like me, someone who is too broken to love and can’t put the past behind him and should never even have become king and—” 

The tears he’d kept back the entire day broke through and he let his head fall in his hands. Weak, he was weak. She shouldn’t have to see him like this, especially not after how he’d treated her, but he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. He tried to protest when she wrapped her arms around him, but she tightened her embrace, pulling his head against her chest and humming a tune as he sobbed.

They sat together until the candle died and they were left in darkness. The crying stopped first, then his breath steadied and finally, he found the strength to disentangle himself from her. Was that pity on her face? It must be, for he deserved no compassion.

He rubbed his face and stood up. “You should go.” A harsh answer to her kindness, but he didn’t trust himself to say anything else.

Instead of flinching or backing away like she should after tonight, she stood in one gracious movement. “Sit down.”

Too confused to think of anything else to do, he obeyed her order. The velvet covering of the sofa was soft against his bare skin, but his eyes kept going to the other side, where traces of his seed stained the fabric. There had been no softness in what he’d done.

Instead of sitting down next to him, Sorcha went over to the windows to open the curtains. She strode back to him with the silvery moonlight around her like a halo. When she sat down, she kept a hand’s span between them, as if she understood how he couldn’t bear another touch. Not right now.

“Listen to me,” she started. “I know today was hard and though my circumstances are different, I know a little of what it’s like to lose someone you love.” She paused, searching his face. He wasn’t sure what she found there, but she continued. “I would have been worried if you would have shrugged off Anna-Lise’s sacrifice. The fact that you still hurt only tells me that you care. You care so much and that’s a good thing, even if it sometimes seems easier to not care.”

“Sorcha, please. Don’t.” No doubt she meant to be kind, but her words stung like alcohol in his wounds. “Maybe that’s true for most people, but a king must place his country before his own feelings. I clearly can’t. I never should’ve been made king. Big mistake, all of it.”

“Stop it,” she said with more force than before. “You’re right about one thing and that’s that you can’t stay in the past. Yes, you’re a king, you have responsibilities and I know you are perfectly well capable of fulfilling them and Anna-Lise”—he flinched when Sorcha used her name again—“believed the same or she wouldn’t have put you in this position.” She took his hand in hers. “So for her, for all those who believe in you, can you try to move on? Not forget, but acknowledge and live _your_ life.”

He swallowed, unable to say anything. Every answer would lead to disappointment, now or later, and he couldn’t let her down like that. Not when he could no longer deny that she spoke out of care and kindness, not pity.

“ _I_ believe in you. Alistair…” She pressed his hand against her heart. “You’re a good person.”

He took what felt like his first breath today. Cool air filled his lungs. “That means more than you might imagine.” He managed a wavering smile. “Is this when the audience claps and they live happily ever after?”

She smiled at that. That at least he could do; make her smile. 

She didn’t push him any further, but she stayed by his side through the night. They stayed up until long past midnight, talking as much as staying quiet. 

The next morning, they woke early after no more than a few hours of sleep. Though he couldn’t stop yawning, he also felt a stillness inside him where there had been frayed edges of hurt and self-doubt. The pain was still there, but he didn’t let it snare him. He would try to do better for her.

Lost in thought as he was, he didn’t notice Sorcha getting ready to leave until a gust of cold air came through the opened window. Sitting on the windowsill with her legs outside, she turned to him. He expected a quip, maybe a kiss, but she looked almost sad.

“Yesterday, you mentioned,” her eyes flitted around the room, “love.”

A rooster crowed outside and he sifted through possible replies, only to discard one after the other. In the end, he came up with a careful, “Yes?” like he questioned what he had said the night before. Great, she must be impressed with his sharp replies. Though it could’ve been worse, he could’ve joked about how he hadn’t been himself after the terrible banquet. A headache, bad wine and, worst of all, no cheese. Who held a banquet with no cheese? Wouldn’t have been fair to her, that.

She straightened her back and there was a challenge in the tilt of her chin when she met his eyes. “I don’t want it, so don’t feel like you’re falling short.” Her lips curved in a wry smile. “I tried it once. Didn’t like it much.”

With that she jumped into the garden, leaving him alone. Outside, a new day dawned.

**Author's Note:**

> Because of some personal stuff, this chapter didn't get as much editing as I would have liked. Hope you enjoyed it, though. The next part should be up in two weeks.


End file.
